Every Four Years
by Constable Remington
Summary: Fuji/Takashi Fuji can only celebrate his birthday every four years. I swear I am the only person who likes this pairing.


It wasn't unusual for Takashi's hands to be bleeding after his matches, among other injuries he typically sustained. Fuji, when playing doubles with him, never seemed to mind the inevitable drops of blood on the court, or what would get smeared on his hands when he'd call for a high five.

Takashi would deliver with a scream of something unintelligible and a very hard smack to Fuji's raised hand. Though it obviously stung, Fuji never even flinched.

It was something the rest of Seigaku just really didn't understand.

With the way Takashi got when he was playing a match, Fuji hadn't counted on him to be a very stable doubles partner. And yet, they seemed to fit together perfectly -- Fuji's relaxed but resolute way of playing really worked against Takashi's crazed rush of power.

Afterwards, Takashi would settle on the bench, staring down at his palms in a mixed expression of confusion, surprise, and horror, and Fuji would apply bandages in an almost motherly fashion.

"You should take care of your hands, Taka-san," he would say, warningly, and Takashi would look up at him, surprised.

"I really did all of this?" he would say, and Fuji would just grin. Somehow, that Takashi didn't know his own strength was rather endearing.

Fuji's birthday had fallen on one such match day, and afterwards, most of the team had acknowledged it with a card or small gift. Fuji was about to head home, gifts in hand, before he noticed Takashi still hanging around the court.

Slipping his things into his tennis bag, Fuji shouldered the bag before heading back into the gated courts. Takashi was sitting on the first row of bleachers, usually reserved for the regulars between matches.

"Yo, Taka-san," Fuji called, with a wave. Takashi looked up, surprised, before returning the wave with a small smile. "What are you still doing here?" he asked, sliding down to sit beside Takashi.

"...I'm just taking a rest," Takashi admitted, giving a weak smile. Now that Fuji thought about it, Takashi still looked really tired. Sure, they'd played the last set in the match, but Fuji had thought Takashi had regained his breath by now.

He guessed he didn't realize just how much 'burning' really took out of his partner.

Even so, it looked like there was something more on his mind. Fuji didn't want to pry, but...

"Isn't today your birthday?" Takashi asked, suddenly, looking up. Fuji nodded.

"Well," he said with a shrug, "It's tomorrow. But, there isn't a tomorrow, so..."

He trailed off. Takashi looked confused for a moment, before Fuji interjected to clarify.

"February 29th. I only get to really celebrate every four years."

"Oh!" Takashi laughed. "That's so weird. But it's cool! It suits you."

Fuji looked amused. "Are you saying I'm weird?" he asked, prodding Takashi in the side. Takashi looked rather flustered.

"I said 'cool' afterwards, didn't I?" he asked, folding his arms. "It really is like you!"

"Ahh, okay, okay." Fuji just grinned.

Takashi went to reach for his tennis bag. Fuji noticed the bandages already needed to be changed, and he winced. Takashi had really overdone it this time...

"Here," Takashi said, suddenly. "I... I bought this for you."

He reached into the bag and produced a brand new tennis racquet.

Fuji just stared in slight shock. It was Prince, the brand he liked, and it was such an expensive racquet...

"I can't accept it, though," he said, suddenly, meeting Takashi's gaze. "Really, Taka-san, you shouldn't have concerned yourself with me like this..."

Takashi looked down, still holding the racquet out.

"We-well, you, ah... we..." he shook his head. "Your racquet has blood on it, from... from touching my hands all the time, and I... it's not... right. So please take this racquet to use when you're not playing with me."

Fuji smiled softly. There was even a bow tied from ribbon on the handle. He reached out, taking it.

...How strange, that Takashi hadn't lost control on touching this racquet. Was it because it was meant for Fuji?

"Also... ah, there's... there's this." Takashi reached further into the bag, producing a small roll of bandages.

Fuji looked down at them curiously.

"...I appreciate you taking care of me," Takashi said, suddenly, "So... please continue to do so!" he held out the bandages, bowing quickly.

Fuji smiled as he took them.

"Hold out your hands," he said, softly. Takashi straightened, instantly, blinking in surprise.

"My hands?"

"You're bleeding through your bandages," Fuji pointed out. "...You could just go home and have your mother change them for you, but she won't, will she?"

Takashi quickly looked away.

"...My parents get very angry with me," he said quietly, "when I come home this way. They want me to quit tennis. Ruined hands make a useless chef."

Fuji hummed softly.

"They're right," he said, nodding. "And a useless tennis player, too. But your hands aren't ruined." He reached for one of Takashi's hands as he said, this, pulling it closer, undoing the bandage he'd tied on only a half-hour ago and undoing it, carefully. Discarding it on the bench beside him, he began to wrap a new one in its place, tighter than before.

"Even so," Fuji said, as he wrapped, "if your parents don't want you to come home like this, I suppose you'll have to come home with me."

Takashi looked shocked. He almost jerked his hand away, but Fuji held on.

"I- I can't! Not on your birthday... won't your family...?"

"They won't mind," Fuji said, smiling. "You'll be my birthday guest."

Upon finishing tying on the new bandages, Fuji led Takashi to his home. Fuji's family was very welcoming -- his mother rushed to set out a bed for Takashi in Fuji's room, assuring him there would be plenty of food to go around and plenty of room at the table.

"I'm afraid my cooking may not be as high-quality as you are certainly used to," she said, with a bow, "but I hope you will enjoy it."

Upon eating dinner, Takashi wondered why Fuji's mother had been so humble. The food was delicious, and though holding chopsticks for so long was a little painful, he managed. Yuuta was there, and the three boys dominated the table conversation with talk of tennis.

To Takashi, it was a very refreshing night.

When it was time to go to bed, Fuji let Takashi borrow a pair of pajamas (they just barely fit -- Fuji was still a little smaller than him, he guessed) and the two settled down on their respective mats, which Fuji had pushed together to create one larger bed.

Curling under the big pile of blankets, Fuji smiled slightly towards Takashi.

"Thank you for the birthday gifts," he said, quietly. Takashi didn't know what to say. To him, it felt as if Fuji had given him a gift. It was so strange.

"I'm glad I could," he answered, quickly, and Fuji smiled, slipping his hand into Takashi's before closing his eyes. Takashi took that as a sign that it was time to fall asleep, and he curled his fingers around Fuji's before his eyes closed, too.


End file.
